always seemed to me to be something frantic and enraged about this passage, concealing its real emotion—which I suspect is fear that Eliot, as well as being a greater talent than her, may also be right. This widely accepted dismissal of faith by the intelligent and educated seemed then to be definitive proof that the thing was a fake, mainly because I wanted such proof. This blatant truth, that we hold opinions because we wish to, and reject them because we wish to, is so obvious that it is too seldom